


A is for Anxiety-Riddled and B is for Burnt Out (C is for Catastrophizing and D is for... Well, D is for something else.)

by MellytheHun



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Takes Care Of Stiles, Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 04:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4125807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellytheHun/pseuds/MellytheHun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anon asked me on Tumblr: Can you write about Stiles being stressed over finals and Derek helping him relax when he breaks down from the pressure?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A is for Anxiety-Riddled and B is for Burnt Out (C is for Catastrophizing and D is for... Well, D is for something else.)

Derek climbs in through Stiles’ bedroom window at around 10pm, Friday evening. He paced the loft most of the day, waiting to ask for this favor because he knows what time of year this is. He thought, in a way he considered highly rational at the time, that Stiles would be done with whatever studying he had to do by this late in the evening. And as so many times before, he is wrong.

Stiles is on the floor of his bedroom, five different textbooks are open in a semi-circle around him, like he might be casting a spell. The textbooks have different colored tabs sticking out from a hundred pages in each and looseleaf papers full of chicken scratch carpet the floor with corresponding colored highlighted sections. Stiles has a pencil behind his left ear, a pen behind his right and he’s tapping a mechanical pencil against one of the open pages of what appears to be an AP Calculus book.

“ _Nope_. Nein. Nah. No. Nu. Niet. Non. Not happening, negatory, absolutely not, no, no, _no_. Whatever it is you want, your motion is rejected. I have taken _three_ Adderall today and I need to know _literally everything_ by _Monday,_ so unless you brought me coffee as black as the void of space or mercifully arranged a lobotomy for me, you should leave before I actually spontaneously combust.”  


Stiffly, Derek pauses, staring at Stiles’ wild hair like he might catch sight of a flame. He does consider turning his back and silently leaving, but something like fondness washes over him. He recalls getting his B.A in New York and the sleepless nights he spent surrounded by open-faced books and how he chewed so hard on pens that they exploded in his mouth. He scratches at the square of his jaw, weighing the pro’s and cons of staying versus leaving.

He eventually sighs and sits down on the floor, about three feet away from Stiles, as that’s as close as the barrier of papers will allow him to get.

“You are staying,” Stiles observes with no small measure of annoyance; he doesn’t even look up from the text he’s reading, “This was a poor choice.”  


“You look pale and your heart is overworked. Have you had any water today?”  


Stiles laughs sharply, “if by ‘had any water,’ you mean ‘mixed Redbull and Monster and injected it directly into my veins,’ then yes. I have had water today.”

Derek rolls his eyes, “what have you eaten?”

“Eaten? What is this word?” Stiles asks manically, one hand turning a page and the other dragging down the side of his face, “Eat? For eat? How does eat? I know nothing of this eating. I haven’t eaten today?”  


Stiles looks up for a brief second, confused by his own question. Then he nods and affirms, “I have not eaten today.”

“Alright,” Derek announces, standing up and reaching into Stiles’ paper fort to straighten him up by the collar of his shirt, “Get your scrawny ass up.”  


“ _Rude_ ,” Stiles accuses, flailing until Derek is able to let go of him.  


He’s on his own two feet again, but he is pallid, there are dark circles under his eyes and his heart still seems too fast. Derek sighs worriedly, brows curving in.

“You don’t want to know what will happen to you if you’re not downstairs in sweatpants and a nightshirt within the next five minutes.”  


With his threat sitting heavily in the air, Derek turns to Stiles’ door and leaves him to change. He listens to Stiles mutter profanities to himself, but then there’s the sound of drawers sliding open and closed and he lets out a sigh of contentment for Stiles’ complacency. 

Derek goes into the living room and turns on SpikeTV’s moronic special ‘Gnarliest Motorcycle Crashes Part 4,’ and goes into the kitchen to make something nutritional. He rolls his eyes even as he’s throwing ingredients out onto the counter; he suddenly feels like an Alpha again. A real one. A good one.

“What are you doing?”  


Derek looks over his shoulder into the kitchen doorway where Stiles is standing. His very skin looks threadbare, his hair going in every direction, eyes sunken and his clothes look ill-fit. 

“I’m making pasta with garlic, sun dried tomatoes and spinach. Sit your ass on the couch and watch whatever mindless show I’ve put on.”  


“You maybe have misunderstood me? I was studying -”  


“I know,” Derek answers, turning back to search under the stove for pots and pans, “You can’t keep burning the candle at both ends. So go sit down and watch something that doesn’t require thinking.”  


There’s an air that makes it feel, to Derek, like Stiles wants to argue, but he doesn’t. He turns around and pads into the living room. He sits down on the couch with a tired groan and Derek even hears the boy’s back crack as he adjusts his seat. 

He uses a whole-grain pasta that must be intended for the Sheriff and while he’s cooking, he wonders how Stiles even manages to eat so poorly when he has seen to it personally that his house is filled with only organic, healthy produce. 

“Derek,” Stiles whines from the living room.  


“What.”  


“This is _stupid_.”  


“I know.”  


“No - Derek - this show is -”  


“I know, Stiles. Stop trying to analyze it and just watch the explosions.”  


He hears Stiles give a long-suffering sigh, but then there’s blissful quiet. Well, quiet that is peppered with crashes, explosions and some annoying narrator announcing over and over, “did you see that GNARLY WIPE OUTTTTTTT.’

Eventually Derek is able to present Stiles with a plate of pasta and a tall glass of cold water. He takes a seat next to him on the couch and ignores the way Stiles stares at the side of his head.

“Okay. I’m gonna bite. What is happening?”  


“I’m pretty sure I saw a kappa in the woods at dawn this morning, which I wanted you to research,” Derek says around a mouth of noodles, “Then there was a change of course.”  


Stiles’ brows pull in, “yeah, I can see that.”

He looks down at his plate, poking it with his fork curiously.

“Sorry for biting your head off when you came in.”  


Derek shrugs and mentions, “just eat all your garlic. You’re going to need it for whatever you’ve put your immune system through this week.”

“Bossy, bossy, bossy,” Stiles smirks, poking some of his cooked garlic and smelling at it before popping it in his mouth, “Garlic is a superfood.”  


That’s the last thing that’s said for a long while. Derek and Stiles sit on the couch and watch a lot of transportation vehicles collide and burst into flames. They eat, they sink into the cushions and Stiles resolutely does not think. 

This becomes very apparent at around 12am, when ‘Ridiculous Rodeo Fails part 3!’ is airing and Stiles asks loudly,

“How was this not awkward?”  


“Hmm?”  


Stiles pokes Derek’s thigh with his big toe and when Derek finally looks at him, he can see that Stiles’ skin has filled with color again, his eyes aren’t glassy or sunken anymore. His hair is wild, his clothes are still too big, but he’s fed and calm and that soothes something instinctive in Derek’s soul that was rattled when he first arrived.

“This had every right to be really uncomfortable, but it’s been nice.”  


Derek nods, unsure of what to say.

Stiles is watching him, face open and curious.

“You get that I...”  


Derek tilts his head, waiting.

Stiles trails off that thought, though and says, “never mind. Sorry.”

“You’re thinking again,” Derek chides.  


Stiles chuckles, looking down at his pajama pants.

“I get it. I get what you’re doing and I probably... I _definitely_ needed the break. So. Thank you.”  


“That’s what you _think_ you’re supposed to say,” Derek sighs.  


He stretches his arms across the back of the couch, tilts his head back and shuts his eyes. He takes in a deep breath, lets it out slow as a sort of example for Stiles and he listens to Stiles’ heartbeat. 

“Look,” Derek starts, “I know you have every capability of passing every single one of your exams and here’s why; you’re the brightest person I’ve ever known. You retain almost everything you hear and see and you catch on fast.”  


He turns his head, opening his eyes to Stiles when he adds,

“And when you don’t retain what you’ve learned, you’re a pretty impressive bull-shitter, so I’m really not worried about your grades at all.”  


Stiles stares at him blankly for a few beats and then laughs heartily. 

When Stiles’ laughter quiets down, Derek reassures him,

“You’ve got this. Really.”  


Stiles smiles and nods, his eyes glistening. He clears his throat nervously and says,

“Y-yeah, man. Thanks.”  


At around 2am, Derek sends Stiles to bed. The poor kid’s knees nearly give out on him halfway up the stairs and he uses his toothbrush backwards for almost a full minute before realizing how fried his brain is. 

Derek cleans the dishes, shuts off the television and before he leaves through the window how he came, he listens to Stiles mutter in his sleep.

Stiles turns, hugs his pillow close, says something about the functionality of the electoral college, but then he mumbles sleepily,

“Mm’luv’you’Der’k...”  


And if Derek were thinking, he’d have pretended it never happened, but his brain and body are tired and his heart is satisfied in a new and exciting way, so he replies in a whisper,

“Love you too.”


End file.
